


Pas de Deux

by ThePrettyTomboy



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dancer, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/F, F/M, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:12:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2360801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePrettyTomboy/pseuds/ThePrettyTomboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>pas●de●deux<br/><i>n</i><br/>1.  a dance or dance sequence for two dancers<br/>2.  a close relationship between two people involved in a joint activity or venture</p><p>Carolina is a dancer who is serious and passionate about her work, making her a favorite subject of world-renowned photographer Dr. Leonard Church. That is, until another young woman catches his eye. Suddenly Carolina is competing with this "Tex" for attention she's not so sure she ever had to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Balancé

**Author's Note:**

> So right off, major spoilers for RvB seasons eight through the end of ten, so do yourself a favor and finish them if you haven't already before reading any further. With that out of the way, why yes, this is going to be Texalina. What can I say, my brain slipped. Not rated because I honestly don't know just yet.
> 
> Hooray for my first fic in the fandom, please enjoy~

          The scent of morning flowers surrounded Carolina as she passed the park on her jog. Her arms pumped at her sides, her breath coming out in hazy puffs that the crisp breeze whisked away. The pounding of her feet against the pavement of the sidewalk echoed through the quiet neighborhood. Hot sweat dripped down Carolina’s face, stinging her eyes for a split second before she blinked it away. She glanced upward at the sky, still tinged pink and purple as a reminder from the sunrise. She cherished the quiet zen of early morning that gave her the chance to abandon all thought at home and surrender to the pulsing of blood through her veins. Her eyes wandered to the other side of the street for a moment as another jogger passed by.

          The towering glass windows of her home loomed closer with every step Carolina took until at last she came to a stop inside the front door, where she kicked off her tennis shoes before entering the gym. She settled herself on the yoga mat and leaned forward with her legs spread. Her forehead rested on the floor as she counted the seconds, her fiery bangs pressing into her skin. As she shifted positions, a flash in the periphery of her vision drew her attention.

          “Beautiful. Just like your mother.” Dr. Church circled around his daughter, snapping more pictures as he went.

          Carolina sighed as she moved into an upward plank. “I thought we agreed warm-ups were off-limits.”

          Looming over Carolina, Dr. Church scoffed. “Nonsense.” He twisted the focus and trained his camera on her face. “Now try to look serene.”

          With a roll of her eyes, Carolina tore her gaze away from the soulless lens of her father’s camera and tried her best to neutralize her expression, knowing that the sooner he got what he wanted, the sooner Dr. Church would leave her to what was supposed to be solitude.

          “Perfect,” he drawled, allowing his camera to fall to its place around his neck. Dr. Church turned on his heel and without looking back said, “I’ll be in my studio if you need me.” His footsteps disappeared into the depths of the house.

          A breath Carolina hadn’t realized she’d been holding hissed between her pursed lips in its haste to escape. She lowered herself onto her back and folded her arms behind her head, thighs pulling up to hover above her hips in a seated position. The contraction of her abdominal muscles lifted her shoulders from the ground, and she counted in silence, twisting her body so her elbows touched the opposite knees, breathed in, breathed out. Carolina rose to her feet and raised her arms above her head, the joints of her interlaced fingers cracking in protest as she pushed against the air above her before bending forward at the hips and pressing her palms into the floor in front of her feet. She straightened up and pulled each arm across her chest, then rolled her head to the left and to the right before exiting the gym and padding across the chilly wood planks that lined the hallway to the heated stone flooring of the kitchen.

          “Good morning Miss Carolina!” greeted the middle-aged woman up to her elbows in dishwater, her round cheeks lifting as she smiled at her employer. “If you’ll just let me dry my hands, I can make your breakfast. What would you like?”

          Carolina waved the offer away as she grabbed a cup of yogurt out of the refrigerator. “That won’t be necessary, Phyllis.” She ripped the foil cover off her breakfast and took a dry spoon from Phyllis’s hand as she sat at the island.

          With a pop, Phyllis pulled the plug from the sink and rubbed her hands on the damp dishtowel hanging from the handle of the oven. “Are you sure that’s all you’ll have? I can make you toast or a bagel, it’s no trouble.”

          “I’m not that hungry right now,” Carolina replied around a spoonful of blueberry yogurt. She swiped the silverware around the cup one last time to catch the streaks she’d missed. “Dr. Church is shooting me and York this afternoon.”

          Phyllis took the empty utensils from Carolina, disposing of the plastic cup in the trash compactor and rinsing the spoon off under running water. “I always love your shoots together, Miss Carolina. Sometimes I wish I could shoot you myself.” She opened the silverware drawer and placed the spoon with its siblings.

          “Are my cyan tights clean?”

          “Fresh out of the dryer, Miss Carolina, just let me—“

          Carolina was out of the kitchen and entering the laundry room before Phyllis could finish, taking her tights off the top of the pile of brights and retreating upstairs to her bedroom. She peeled off her sweaty sports bra and sweatpants, tossing them across the room into the empty clothes hamper before pulling her ponytail loose and dropping the hair tie on her dresser. As she passed by, Carolina grabbed a towel off the shelf in her bathroom and slung it over her shoulder. She turned the knobs of her shower and tested the water. Steam filled the room as she stepped in, leaving her towel on the rack. Ten minutes later she was out, shaved and washed, towel wrapped around her hair while water evaporated off her bare skin. She applied fresh antiperspirant and powdered her body where skin met skin, squeezed the moisture from her hair and ripped a brush through the tangles before pulling it back into its ponytail. Fingers nimble with practice, Carolina rolled up her tights and pulled them over her legs, the toe resting against the top of her foot. She put on a matching sports bra from her drawer before making her way downstairs to her own studio.

          Pale green eyes stared back at Carolina as she entered the room, her image reflected back at her from all sides. She settled on the lacquered wood and pulled on the tiny leather lyrical shoes she’d tossed aside the previous day. Carolina flexed her feet, toes cracking while the leather shifted against her skin. With the remote, she turned on the stereo, causing a cacophonous philharmonic to reverberate off the walls. Her back arched, head dipping backward toward the floor, arms arcing behind her. She took a languid step forward on her right foot and lost herself to the music. Muscle memory took over, twirling her across the room with the swell of the lead violin, throwing her to the ground with the staccato bass of the timpani. Carolina reached out her right hand as she looked over her left shoulder.

          Warm fingers surprised her by wrapping around her own, the auburn-haired reflection of York grinning at Carolina before tugging her into a lift, his large hands wrapping around her inner thighs as he spun her around. “I should’ve known you’d start rehearsing without me.” He lowered the woman in his arms to the ground, hands lingering on her waist a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

          “You snuck up on me,” said Carolina as she shut off the music.

          York’s gaze softened as it met Carolina’s eyes. “You were so absorbed in the choreography I almost didn’t want to interrupt.” One hand slid along the curve of Carolina’s waist and he took a step closer, head tilting down and lips parting, warm breath tickling the cupid’s bow before them.

          Their lips a hair from touching, Carolina placed her palm square in the center of York’s sternum and stopped him with a gentle push. “You’d better change before Dr. Church gets here. You know how he is.”

          York laughed, but the fading light in his eyes betrayed his disappointment. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Be back in a few.” He disappeared down the hall toward the guest bathroom, the slight slump in his shoulders sending a pang of regret through Carolina’s chest. Long, silent minutes passed between his departure and his return. York reentered the room backside first, clothed in shiny gold spandex pants and a tight-fitting white wifebeater.

          The tugging at Carolina’s lips could not be refused; she cracked a grin. “What on earth are those?” she asked, voice breaking with an ill-concealed chuckle.

          “Dr. Church said he wanted his next series to focus on legs, so I thought I’d give them a reason to be the center of attention.” York extended his muscular leg toward Carolina, pivoting it at the hip to show off the shine of his leggings. “What do you think?”

          “I think,” said Carolina, “that they’re ridiculous.” She tickled the underside of York’s foot, causing him to snap it back with a yelp. “But it’s not my photoshoot. Let’s rehearse a few times before he shows up.” Music filled the room again as Carolina and York moved across the studio, hands glancing off one another’s skin as they brushed past, bodies sliding together as they performed intricate lifts, eyes meeting and sending sparks flying across the room for the briefest of moments before they were torn apart by the onward lilt of the song. At the final crash of the gong they froze, Carolina grasping York’s hand, back mere inches off the floor, her ponytail brushing the wood as he pulled her up, his hands circling around her waist. Carolina’s eyelids drifted lower as the space between them closed.

          A knock at the doorframe broke the dancers apart. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Carolina,” said Phyllis, her eyebrows tilted upward in apology, “but Dr. Church has requested your presence in his studio.”

          Carolina exhaled through her nose, counting the seconds to calm the flare of irritation that had leapt up inside her. “What does he want?” she bit out.

          Phyllis shrugged, impervious to the heat rolling in waves off her employer. “He said it was of the utmost urgency that he see you.”

          As Carolina pulled away from him, York gave her hand a light squeeze and offered a half-hearted smile to her back as she left him alone to attend to the whims of her father.


	2. Penché

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Church gives Carolina a mission she doesn't much like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, I didn't write the first chapter only to shy away from the story before posting another! My intention is to have a new chapter every week on Thursday or Friday, and since I finished early this week, you get it on Thursday.
> 
> I got bored and made a [cover](http://38.media.tumblr.com/a16ba54332d0bf9cce7ddf958a1a7eae/tumblr_ncmuu13Vn51rnu5zbo1_1280.png) for this fic. Feel free to send asks to me on Tumblr if you like, I'm the-pretty-tomboy~

          Photographs lined the walls on Dr. Church’s side of the house, all of them featuring the same two dancers. Carolina stopped to study the one just to the left of the door to the dark room. The picture was of a sleek blonde woman, blue eyes watching the tiny red-haired princess mimicking her first position _demi-plié_. A smile touched Carolina’s lips as her fingers hovered over the glass of the frame, tracing the air above her mother’s face. Her earliest memories were of dance lessons given by her mother between tours with the ballet company. Carolina rapped her knuckles on the wood of the door, turning the knob when Dr. Church bade her come in.

          She found him sitting at his desk chair, staring at the line of photographs clothespinned to a wire that extended from one wall of the room to the other. The pictures were of the jogger Carolina had passed by that morning, a young black woman with cropped curly hair, all taken from a distance as she passed in front of the house. The variety of jogging clothes she wore told Carolina that Dr. Church had been watching her for some time. There was adoration in the way he looked at his work, a fondness that was never on his face save for when he viewed pictures of his late wife. The last picture on the wire was so fresh it was still dripping developer on the stained towel beneath it. In it the woman was stopped, and appeared to be looking into the camera, her head tilted to the side. She wore the same outfit Carolina had seen her in on her jog. “Isn’t she marvelous?”

          Not desiring to cause an argument over Dr. Church’s apparent new hobby, Carolina countered with, “You wanted to talk to me?”

          Her father gestured to his collection. “I asked you a question.” He turned his back to Carolina, the hands of his red-lit silhouette folding across his chest. “Look at the form of her legs. Long. Muscular. Elegant.” Dr. Church reached up and traced the line of the woman’s body in a sprint, her limbs extended in a picturesque curve. “I would like to display this photograph in my next series. Unfortunately, my critics would not take kindly to my use of a mystery subject.” He spun his chair to face his daughter. “I have noticed that your routine jog coincides with hers.”

          Indignation boiled beneath Carolina’s skin. “She runs on the opposite side of the street. We’ve never even acknowledged each other.”

          “Well I’m giving you a reason to acknowledge her,” Dr. Church retorted. “And I want you to do it tomorrow morning.”

          Carolina opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off as she inhaled.

          “I don’t want your excuses, Carolina. Follow her back to her house if you have to. Is that understood?”

          Ears burning and fists clenched at her sides, Carolina gave her father a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”

          Dr. Church rose from his chair. “Excellent. Now, has York arrived yet?”

          “We were rehearsing when you sent Phyllis.”

          As he picked up a tripod from the floor, Dr. Church said, “Let him know I’ll be down in fifteen minutes for the shoot. Keep him warm for me.”

          Carolina took that as her dismissal and left her father to himself, stalking out of the dark room. She passed by her dance studio, from which York called her name, into the gym. She drew back a fist and buried it in her punching bag with an unsatisfying smack. She made to throw another punch, but a hand clasped around her wrist from behind. “Let go, York.”

          “That bad, huh?” York rubbed his thumb against the pressure point just below Carolina’s joint, his other arm wrapped around her waist, cradling her against him. “You wanna talk about it?”

          With a sigh, Carolina tipped her head back to rest on York’s shoulder. “Sometimes I hate that I can’t tell him no.” She crossed her arm over her chest, interlocking her fingers with York’s.

          He shrugged and rested his chin above Carolina’s ear. “He’s your dad. What else can you do?” York released her and spun her around to face him. “Should I press any more?”

          “Let’s get back to the studio,” said Carolina. “Dr. Church said he’d be another fifteen minutes, but he wants us warm.” Carolina pulled York along by the hand back into the studio. She threw herself into the _pas_ , rivulets of sweat making trails on her skin by the time her father arrived, equipment in hand. As flashes filled the room, Carolina allowed herself to melt into York, their bodies losing distinction and melding into a whole. The sound of her heartbeat dominated her ears and she lost track of the music, awareness limited to her partner and herself. A sweaty palm slipped on Carolina’s arm, throwing her off balance. She hit the floor with a thud, York hovering over her within moments, apologizing as he prodded her body in search of injuries.

          He pressed his lips to the arm he’d lost hold of. “Please say something.”

          Groaning, Carolina pushed herself up onto an elbow. “I’m fine, York.” She tried to stand, but York stayed her with both hands on her shoulders. “I told you I’m fine. Let me up.”

          “You said you were fine when I gave you a concussion too,” York responded. He looked toward Dr. Church for support, eyes pleading with the man to talk some sense into his daughter; he was met with a disgruntled noise as Dr. Church snapped his tripod into a more portable shape. “Thank you, sir.”

          “I expect another shoot if I don’t find a satisfactory shot on this roll, York.” As he left the room, he shot over his shoulder, “And don’t expect your paycheck until then.”

          Once Dr. Church was out of sight, York gave a sarcastic upward salute and muttered, “Yes _sir_.” He turned back to Carolina and guided her arm over his shoulders. “Where do you wanna go?”

          Carolina rolled her eyes. “I should punch you for pulling your chivalry act on me, you know.” Nevertheless, she allowed York to help her to her feet before disentangling herself from him. “Do you have any other plans for today?”

          “North and I are meeting for drinks at Club Errera tonight. But,” he said, catching the minute fall of Carolina’s lips, “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you came along. He could invite South, make it a double date.”

          With a derisive snort, Carolina replied, “It’s not a double date if he brings his sister. Besides, you know South and I don’t get along that well.” She clapped York on the shoulder. “Go have fun, you guys don’t see each other often enough. I need some time to prepare myself for tomorrow morning anyway.”

          York tilted his head to the side and made an interrogative noise. “Is this what you went stomping into the gym about earlier?”

          “Yeah.” Catching the hopeful glint in York’s eye, Carolina waved his unspoken question away. “I still don’t want to talk about it.”

          A wounded laugh left York’s lips as he held his hands in front of himself. “All right, all right, it was worth a shot. Wanna have a smoke with me before I head out?” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and waved it in Carolina’s face. “It’s your favorite brand.”

          “Are you trading me a cigarette for the lighter I stole from you?” she asked, a smile curling her lips. “Go wait on the deck, and don’t let Phyllis see you with those. She throws a fit every time she even suspects I’ve been smoking indoors.” Carolina mounted the stairs to her bedroom and opened the jewelry box on her dresser, a mahogany heirloom that had been passed down from mother to daughter. It reminded her of the days she would spend sneaking into her parents’ bathroom to play dress-up while her mother was on tour, pretending to be the prima ballerina in _Swan Lake_ or _Giselle_. She smoothed her fingers over the wood before fetching the Zippo lying on the deep blue velvet and joining York out back, where he was leaning against the railing that skirted the edge of the deck, eyes trained on the French doors as he waited. Carolina took the cigarette he offered her and handed him his lighter, inclining her head to catch the flame.

          They smoked in comfortable silence, the scent of smoke clinging to the air around them even as they snuffed their cigarettes out in the ceramic ash tray on the patio table. York reached out and took Carolina’s hand, bringing her close to him with a light tug. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before waving a final goodbye and exiting the yard through the tall wooden gate to the side of the house.

          It wasn’t until York had gone that Carolina noticed the silver Zippo lying on the table. A private smile crossed her mouth as she tucked it into her pocket to take back inside.


	3. Glissade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sangria mostly, sprinkled with the plot I promised in my tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Carolina Appreciation Week, and if you've been keeping up with the Carolina tag you may have seen me around. I wrote almost this entire damn thing today, but hey I'm keeping schedule. Enjoy nerds~

          The blare of her alarm clock woke Carolina in the dark of her bedroom. She kicked off her comforter and groaned, feeling around on her bedside table and pressing the seldom-used snooze button. Five minutes passed before she stirred again. “ _Fine_ ,” Carolina grumbled to her alarm as she shut it off. She slid out of bed and groped around for the running clothes she’d set out the night before, pulling them on without touching the lights, vocalizing her displeasure with every movement. Once dressed, she padded downstairs on socked feet, entering the dark kitchen and opening the refrigerator; the dim light illuminated Carolina’s face. She squinted her eyes against it and pulled the glass jar of milk out along with a slice of ham left over from the previous evening’s dinner. As she sat at the island, chewing on the meat between sips of milk, Carolina reviewed her plan of attack. Step one, cross the street prior to beginning her jog. Step two, introduce herself to the mystery woman. Step three, convince her to sign a release of her image for the creep who had been stalking her from his home for god knows how long. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. This was going to be impossible.

          Phyllis’s entrance was heralded by the slap of rubber on wood. She froze in the doorway for a moment, hand flying to her heart as a sharp gasp filled the air between them. “Miss Carolina!” she said, forcing a tense laugh. “I was not expecting you in here so early!” Frowning, she continued. “Did you request an early breakfast yesterday? I apologize if I have forgotten.”

          “I didn’t,” Carolina responded. “I’m running an errand for Dr. Church this morning.” She finished her meager breakfast and stood, handing off her glass to Phyllis so she could wash her hands in the sink.

          “Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Carolina?” Phyllis stepped up to the sink as her employer moved to dry her hands, rinsing out the milky glass as she spoke. “You sound like you could use a drink.”

          Waving the offer away, Carolina started for the hall. She stopped halfway out the exit and turned back toward Phyllis. “Have a sangria ready for me when I get back. I think I’m going to need it.”

         Phyllis looked over her shoulder, the beginnings of Dr. Church’s breakfast in hand. “Just one glass?”

          “Make a whole pitcher just in case,” she ordered, ignoring the way Phyllis’s eyebrows jumped two inches up her forehead. Carolina absconded before the woman could question the details of her errand. She slipped her feet into the abandoned tennis shoes by the front door and adjusted her socks before stepping out into the brisk morning air. At the curb she stopped, looking both ways and taking deep breaths. At last she darted across the street and began her jog in the direction the woman came from every morning. The new scenery might have been refreshing under different circumstances, but as it was, it served only to put knots in Carolina’s stomach. Over the ten minutes she spent jogging in the new direction, her surroundings became less and less opulent. The sidewalk, which in her own neighborhood was kept in good repair thanks to sky-high property taxes, was uneven, weeds growing up between cracked slabs of cement. Many of the houses were falling apart, decks sagging and once-regal columns splintered and half-covered in flaking paint. A plaque attached to the wrought iron fence surrounding one of the properties boasted that she was in one of the city’s historic districts.

          Carolina turned back at the end of the block and began the jog home at a slower pace. She had yet to see her mystery woman. As she passed by the ivy-covered houses again, she began to wonder if she’d somehow missed her, but the sidewalks were too narrow for the possibility to linger in her mind. Perhaps the woman had changed her route upon noticing Dr. Church the previous morning. Perhaps she was ill, or spent the night partying and was too hungover to even consider going for her morning jog. All Carolina knew was that if she came back home empty-handed, she would never hear the end of it. Short of knocking on every door between where she stood and her home, there was no way she was going to find her father’s subject, so she resigned herself to whatever was waiting for her at home.

          The first thing Carolina noticed amiss when she walked in the door was the pair of women’s running shoes on the welcome mat that did not belong to her. They were sitting side-by-side in a perfect line, ruling out the possibility that Dr. Church had asked South to come in for an impromptu shoot. They were also a size larger than Carolina’s own shoes, eliminating Connie. Carolina toed off her shoes and left them alongside the mystery pair, eyeing them with a frown as she headed toward the kitchen. That sangria was sounding damn good in light of the impending reaction to her failed mission.

          The second clue Carolina got that something wasn’t quite right was the conversation that drifted through the empty hallway. The most prominent voice was that of Phyllis, who was rattling off Dr. Church’s numerous degrees and awards in the field of photography in her usual cheerful tone while another woman’s voice interjected with the occasional polite acknowledgement. The nameless voice was husky and rich and carried a southern accent less pronounced than that of Dr. Church. Carolina cleared her throat to announce her presence before stepping over the threshold into the kitchen.

          Leaning with her elbows on the stone island countertop and one knee digging into the leather cushion of a barstool was the woman Carolina had been sent to track down. She looked at Carolina, taking a sip from the glass she held as she turned pale blue eyes on her, recognition crossing her features. “How was your jog?”

          The woman’s eyes triggered a spark of nostalgia and Carolina stiffened, memories of bathtime adventures and bedtime stories rushing past her in a blur. She grasped for a handhold on the present, and words tumbled out of her mouth before they could be caught in a filter of basic social mores. “Is that my sangria?” she demanded, reeling in the aftermath of the confused flood of recollections that had knocked her off balance.

          “Well,” the woman replied as she raised her glass to examine it, mocking thoughtfulness, “it’s definitely sangria. I don’t know about it being yours, though.” She took another drink, blue eyes trained on Carolina over the lip of her glass, examining her.

          Sensing the growing agitation of her employer, Phyllis stepped between the two women and asked, “Would you like me to pour you that sangria you asked for earlier, Miss Carolina?”

          “Please,” she bit out. She leaned against the doorframe, gaze never leaving the intruder perched in her kitchen, holding out her hand for the drink Phyllis offered. Carolina finished it in a single breath and handed it back with a request that it be refilled. Braced by the alcohol, she partook of her second drink with more grace. “I didn’t pass you on your run today.”

          Her tone conversational, the woman replied, “Probably because I stopped here.” She set her glass aside, declining Phyllis’s offer of a refill. “I caught someone photographing me from inside the house yesterday morning and thought I might come by and set a few things straight with them.” She pushed herself off the barstool and stood at full height. “So—”

          “He asked me to talk to you today,” Carolina interrupted. “He wants to use you as a model in his next series.”

          “Who says I _want_ to be his model?” The woman threw her hands into the air. “I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell don’t appreciate being _stalked_ —”

          Carolina’s face contorted into a scowl. “Take it up with him! I’m not his babysitter, I’m—”

          “Ladies, please,” came a voice from behind Carolina, “try to get along.” Dr. Church stepped around his daughter, crossing into the kitchen and extending a hand toward the woman at the island, who stared at it with a raised eyebrow. “My name is Dr. Leonard Church. I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance. I gather from this little dispute that you are aware of my intentions.” He laid a picture he’d been carrying down on the counter. “I want to display this photograph at my next show, but I need your permission to do so.” Before the woman could open her mouth to protest, he pulled a check from his pocket. “You will be duly compensated for the use of your image, of course.”

          She studied the check, her wide pale eyes contrasted against her dark skin and hair, holding it to the light and tracing the numbers written on it in ink. “I’m listening.”

          Dr. Church folded his hands behind his back as he circled around behind his guest. “That’s yours whether you agree or not. Think of it as… _damages_ for my behavior. However if you are interested in being featured in my showcase, I have a release form in my studio for you to sign.”

          The woman eyed the picture on the counter for a moment before replying. “All right.” She followed Dr. Church to the doorway, pausing in front of Carolina. “Look, no hard feelings? It’s not your fault your dad’s an eccentric. Name’s Allison, by the way,” she said before hurrying down the hall.


End file.
